The Maze Runner

When I saw the trailer for the movie The Maze Runner (book by James Dashner, 2009), I immediately texted myself. I text myself reminders. Usually book titles I want to read, but mostly grocery lists. I wanted to remember to read the book before the movie was released. I'm funny like that. 

My copy arrived on a Wednesday afternoon right before lunch time, I had finished it by Thursday night. To say it's a page turner is a vast understatement. I lived in that book for two days. They rest of my real life was a shadowy ghost in the background, pestering me with silly things like work, eating, and sleeping. Minor annoyances that briefly interrupted my reading.

Our hero, Thomas, tumbled into The Glade. He had no idea what was happening. There were several other boys his own age living in the Glade. They had a system in place. A way of functioning that worked for them. He disrupted their lives. When he arrived, things started happening that had never happened before.

The other boys didn't like this of course, and most had a strong dislike (one, hatred) for him and his mere presence in the Glade.

He acclimated quickly to his surroundings. He learned about the various jobs: gardener, butcher, cook. But what he really wanted to do was be a runner. 

A maze surrounded the Glade, with giant gates closing every night at dusk, keeping the "Gladers" inside at night. In the daylight, the runners run into the maze, trying to find a way out. The group had been there for two years, and still found no way out. 

There were strange creatures out in the maze. The Gladers knew them as Grievers. They had slimy, greasy bodies, with metal components like scissors and needles sticking out. Few survived an encounter with a Griever. 

A few days after Thomas arrives, a girl is deposited in the glade. Teresa. A note attached to her unconscious body says, "She's the last one, EVER." 

Of course this was ominous. One night, shortly after, the gates didn't close at sundown. The Grievers storm into the glade, attacking the boys and Teresa. Some were dragged into the maze and killed. 

In the days that followed, Thomas the group into the maze, and they attempt to find a way out. I'm not telling you anymore of the story. 

Other than life's necessary interruptions, I did not stop reading this book until I reached the very end. Dashner weaves a very compelling story. Cold surprises will reach around the corners of the maze and grab your neck. Watch out!

My copy.

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

Look Through my Window

These posts may not always be about the specific book in the title. This series is about my love of books, and my journey as a bookworm. Hopefully, I am sharing my love with you, and I hope that it's propelling you to investigate books you've never heard of.

Books are my friends, books are my sanctuary.

They have taught me many lessons. When I was growing up, I wasn't normal. I wasn't the hilarious, chipper, outgoing (sometimes) girl you know. I will always be an original. I am a unique imprint on the world. 

But, I had a different growing-up experience than most people. I was isolated. Uneducated. Socially obtuse.

My window to the real world was books. My escape. They have always been an escape.

(That window was a bit skewed by me only being allowed to read "old" books, but, it was still a window.)

My journey through life is littered by hundreds of books. I'm shaped by them. Changed by them. I'm affected by them in ways that maybe only other bookworms understand.

Look Through my Window (Jean Little, published 1970) was one of the most life-altering books of my young life.

How did such an obscure, unknown book change my life?

Jean told me I could write. Jean told me I had stories worth telling. I learned that I could write poetry. It didn't matter if it didn't rhyme, it was still a poem. I could be different, and it was okay. (This was the only window of my life in which I wrote poetry and truly believed it was good.)

The story, briefly, is about Emily, a bookworm, stumbling through adolescence, who found two new friends who are all different than her, but they click despite their differences. They each had three distinctive writing styles, they learned from each other, they formed a writing club. 

Life had been quiet and peaceful for Emily, but with her three new friends and their little siblings, it was a new, different kind of life, filled with chaos and noise, with overflowing bathtubs and missing children. It's as wonky and wonderful as it sounds.

I challenge you to pick up a book and learn a lesson from it.

Words have life. Words on the page leap gloriously into our imaginations. They are so powerful.

Words can change the world.

My copy.

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

The Scarlet Pimpernel

“They seek him here, they seek him there
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere
Is he in heaven or is he in hell?
That demned elusive Pimpernel”

The Scarlet Pimpernel is my favorite book of all time. I may have said many books are my favorite, but this title is what pops into my head if someone asks me, "What's your favorite book?"

I discovered a Scarlet Pimpernel "omnibus" (a collection of four Scarlet Pimpernel novels) at the Kearney Public library when I was around thirteen. Baroness Emma “Emmuska” Orczy wrote several SP novels, but the first is the most well-known.

I remember the first time I read it -  and I loved it from the beginning. I reread it once a year. Recently, someone asked me why do I re-read books, if I already know what's going to happen? Why do we watch the same movie again, if we've already seen it? Because it’s a great movie, entertaining, or a great story? That's exactly why reread books. Plus, in this book, there a are a couple of favorite scenes that I look forward to with happy anticipation.

An Englishman, Sir Percy Blakeney, was a fine young stylish gentleman living in London at the time of the French Revolution. He was married to beautiful Marguerite St. Just, of France; she was a very popular actress in Paris, before he swooped in and carried her to England. 

Through a series of unfortunate events before they were married, Marguerite accidentally condemned an innocent man to the guillotine. Percy found out days after they were married, and this caused a deep chasm in their marriage. He no longer trusted her. She thought she had had him on the end of a string, but alas, she did not. They carried on, living separate lives under the same roof.

You see, Sir Percy led a double life. He was the famous Scarlet Pimpernel - the daring vigilante who snatched innocent men, women, and children from the clutches of Madame Guillotine. His darling wife had no clue. He had twenty followers, men ready to follow his orders, whatever they might be. They would lay down their lives, if needed, for the cause. 

One of my favorite chapters is the one in which Blakeney and Chauvelin (a French spy intent on capturing Percy and bringing him to the guillotine) collide in a small inn along the coast of France. Percy has just crossed they channel, planning to rescue Armand St. Just (Marguerite's brother).

They encounter each other while dinner is being served, some rancid-looking soup that was actually quite tasty, and they ended up sitting across from each other. The inn was dark and dirty. Marguerite was hiding upstairs watching events transpire. (For by then, she'd figured out who her husband really was, and had crossed the English Channel, planning to warn him of Chauvelin.) 

Neither one of them played their cards. Chauvelin acted like a friend, making small talk. Percy enjoed some soup. As Orczy writes of  Percy, “He was calmly eating his soup, laughing with pleasant good-humour, as if he had come all the way to Calais for the express purpose of enjoying supper at this filthy inn, in the company of his arch-enemy.” 

As they sat there talking, Chauvelin was mostly distracted by thinking of a way to capture his prey. Percy quietly took Chauvelin's snuff-box, emptying the contents onto the hearth, deftly replacing it with the contents of the pepper shaker. (Snuff is a finely ground tobacco that was inhaled for a small hit of nicotine, very common for this time period.)

Chauvelin, not paying much attention, clearly, took a large hit of his 'snuff' and instantly collapsed into a truly horrible fit of sneezing. His world was upside down, he had no control of his body, he was as a man possessed. In the midst of this chaos erupting across from him, Percy calmly stood up, laid money on the table for the innkeeper, and strode confidently into the black night.

There are many more fantastic chapters; but you'll have to read the rest for yourself. ;-)

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

Gone Girl

I'm not going to tell you much about this book's content. I don't want to ruin the experience for you, because I truly hope you will read it.

I am going to tell you how this book made me feel.

I first met Gone Girl at the Barnes and Noble at Brier Creek. I crossed the threshold on a rainy Sunday afternoon. When I stumble into bookstores, I never have a plan. I simply arrive, and the books find their way into my hands. I picked up the book from a center table, intrigued by the cover. I'd heard of it, but knew nothing about the story itself.

I opened it to the exact middle and was immediately pulled by the world inside. I am pretty sure my nose was still in the book when I paid for it, and as I walked outside.

Gone Girl is a story that you get lost in for days, emerging on the other side, dazed; while remnants of the book world cling to your subconscious, littering your real word with bits and pieces of imagination.

Gillian Flynn weaves a hell of a tale. I lived in that book for two days. Turning page after page after page.

If you're already a bookworm, you're familiar with late nights, staying awake reading, skipping sleep. Those nights don't happen with every book, only the truly mesmerizing and magnetic stories.

Gone Girl is the story of Nick and Amy Dunne.

On the morning of their fifth anniversary, everything is perfectly normal. She sings in the kitchen, as she cooks their breakfast, wearing a pretty little blue apron. They exchange words pleasantly and he left.

Amy disappeared.

Nick came home to find the door open, broken glass strewn about, an overturned ottoman.

What follows is a twisty tale full of surprises mysteries, and complete utter insanity.

What I really hated about this book was the ending. It angered me, infuriated me. As I related the story to a coworker, I was full of rage.

This story, was absolutely phenomenal. The way Gillian wove both Nick and Amy's tale together, throwing in amazing curve balls that kept me turning the pages like a maniac.

I HATED her ending. The ending was weak. I feel like she was running late on a deadline, and hurriedly finished the end.

I want to tell you how I would have written the ending, but that will ruin the story for you.

Despite my disagreements with the author's decision, overall, this was a GREAT book and I'd suggest you go pick up a copy right now. (Libraries are great, by the way.)

My copy.

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

The Seagulls Woke Me

"It's gone, but I knew it when I had it, when the island was my home, and every morning the seagulls woke me."

The Seagulls Woke Me (by Mary Stolz, published in 1951) is easily one of my favorite books. (I suspect I will be saying, "my favorite book" all month long so you may have to get used to it.)

I discovered it when I was in very early adolescence. Mine is a beautiful blue hardcover with a cute little seaside village and little white seagulls, done in the style of Matisse, flying across the top. I loved it from the moment I first read it, and I've carried it with me from my childhood to now. I still re-read it every couple of years, usually take it with me on any trip to the beach. 

It's the story of Jean. A quiet, sixteen year old high school misfit, who had given up on having any social life. Her favorite thing to do with her time, when not at school, was to stay home and read books. (Yes, there may be a few similarities between the two of us/)

Her mother, while keeping her in long, braided hair, dressed in handmade clothes, pushed her to be more social at school. A classic introvert, she was an outcast. A boy invited her to a school dance. Jean only wanted to go to make her mother happy. Her mother happily went shopping with her for a dress. Jean, horribly uncomfortable with the idea of shopping, accepts the first dress she tries on. A horrid taupe-colored creation, that was hideous. It turned out the boy was just as awkward and odd as she, and he left her to fend for herself. She walked home, giving up on the night entirely.

Soon after, her parents received a letter from her aunt and uncle, inviting her to come stay with them at their Maine inn over the summer. They offered her room and board if she would help around the place. Jean had never been there. She wasn't even told about the letter until after the disastrous experience at the school dance. Her father convinced her mother to let her go. Her mother still viewed her as a child, treated her as one; but her father knew she needed to be allowed to grow up.

She was tossed onto a train, her bags meticulously packed by her worried mother, with many stiffly pressed dresses, and brand new, starched “blue jeans.”

What greeted Jean at the little New England island was a completely different world. She was used to hiding in her room, staying away from people. The environment at the inn was one of blusterous productivity. There was a group of five college aged kids who worked for her aunt and uncle, mostly taking care of the guest meals, and little odd jobs around the place. 

At first Jean was very hesitant, afraid to dip her toes in the water. Her first night witnessing the whole group clean up after dinner is a lovely scene. All of them are cracking jokes, laughing, and working as a well-designed team. She leaned back against the wall and absorbed the sight, relishing in its warmth. Max, who had wiggled out of dish washing duty, planted himself on a chair, and played his accordion. She picked up a towel and helped dry the dishes. 

I won't share all of Jean's stories, because I want you to read this book. But I will share a few.

There was a dog who loved to rock in the rocking chair on the front porch, serenely looking across the harbor. He would jump off the porch and glide away if anyone happened to catch him; it was as if part of the joy for him was doing it in secret. 

Jean went out in the crab boat with her uncle, into the ominous fog of the predawn hours. Warmed by a thermos of hot clam chowder, and a borrowed sweater, she learned how to pull up the crab traps and reset them.

Jean was accepted in the group without stipulation; and, most importantly, she learned to accept being accepted. She fell in love with the nerdy, argyle-sock-wearing, young man named Max.

What I love most about the story is Jean's transformation. She discovered herself. No, she created herself, over that summer. The girl who returned was not the same person her parents had shipped off to Maine. She had cut off her hair into a much more hip and stylish bob. She was sunburned and windblown. Her jeans were well-worn and dirty. She was a bright and shining light among her new friends. They had difficult time recognizing their daughter. She was no longer a stranger to herself, she grew into who she was supposed to be.

This is one of those books that I wish had never ended. I always wished I knew what happened to the characters. Where did Jean end up? With Max? What happened when she went back to school?

If I were to write an epilogue, I'd put her right back at that little coastal inn, with her love Max, and the rocking chair dog.

My copy of The Seagulls Woke Me, May 14, 2011, Beaufort, North Carolina, USA

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

Only the Cat Saw

Only the the Cat Saw (by Ashley Wolff) is an illustrated book that my Aunt Roma gave me when I was a very young girl. I might have been five or six years old, but I can't quite remember.

There are not very many words in it. The illustrations are beautiful full-color paintings.

It's the story of a small orange farm cat. He’s nocturnal, as most cats are, and it tells us his story: his adventures, and what he sees, all while people and other animals are busy, sleeping, working, or doing other things.

He sees the mother, sitting in a rocking chair in a corner of the house, nursing a new baby; she’s singing softly to the new baby, in the peace and stillness.

He sees the farmer out in the garage, fixing the red tractor; then he walks out on the lawn and sees hundreds of fireflies in the grass.

He sees an owl hunting a small mouse in the shadows, under the low light of the moon.

He sees lightning outside, and rain pouring down the kitchen window. 

He sees the animals in the barn, getting all tucked in for the night. There is a small family of brown dogs (the mamma and puppies) and they get all settled in cozily into a cute little basket.

The book closes on an image of the cat, fast asleep in a basket on a rug, as the rest of the family wakes up to start the new day.

The message of the book (for me) is to slow down, and see. Observe. Pause. Notice things. Notice the details that everyone else misses. 

I know it might seem silly for my first post to be about a children's book, but this may be where it all began for me. Out of all the books I read with I was little, this book has stayed with me through the years. It's the first book I ever remember.

Thank you Aunt Roma, from the bottom of my heart - you ignited my lifelong passion for books.

This post is part of the 31 Days of Bibliophilia series. 

31 Days of Bibliophilia

My friend Corie Clark recently suggested that I participate in a 31 day writing challenge. At first, I was very skeptical. I thought (to myself), the internet will be FLOODED with words! I know many writers, and we share and promote each other's words. Sometimes, I get a little jaded.

I feel like the universe is inundated with tellers and speakers and writers, but not many listeners and readers. However, an idea flitted across my brain this morning; and, based on the gentle prodding of my friends (also thanks to Amy Latta), I'm going to grasp it, believe in it, and, before my courage wains, run with it.

I'm going to write "31 Days of Bibliophilia." What is bibliophilia? No, it's not a odd disease or weird phobia. Bibliophilia is the love of books. According to Wikipedia, "The classic bibliophile is one who loves to read, admire and collect books, often amassing a large and specialized collection." A much simpler (and more common) explanation: I'm a bookworm!

As George R.R. Martin wrote, "A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one." I've always been a book lover. I love living many lives. I love the knowledge, the random facts, and the "big words" that surprise people when they manage to cascade joyfully from the recesses of my brain.

I will be posting every day and linking all in this post. 

Day One: Introduction
Day Two: Only the Cat Saw
Day Three: The Seagulls Woke Me

Day Four: Gone Girl
Day Five: The Scarlet Pimpernel
Day Six: Look Through my Window
Day Seven: The Maze Runner
Day Eight: The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle
Day Nine: The Book Thief
Day Ten: The Witch of Blackbird Pond
Day Eleven: Outlander
Day Twelve: Wise Words about Books
Day Thirteen: Farmer Boy
Day Fourteen: The Ordinary Princess
Day Fifteen: The Adventures of a Bibliophile
Day Sixteen: A Tale of Two Cities
Day Seventeen: Joyland
Day Eighteen: The Fault in Our Stars
Day Nineteen: a few words about books
Day Twenty: The Glass Castle
Day Twenty-One: The Giver
Day Twenty-Two: The Time Machine
Day Twenty-Three: Back Roads
Day Twenty-Four: Mr. Mercedes
Day Twenty-Five: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court
Day Twenty-Six: books: life-changers
Day Twenty-Seven: October's Party
Day Twenty-Eight: Divergent
Day Twenty-Nine: The Hunger Games
Day Thirty: The Passage
Day Thirty-One: epilogue: a grand adventure!

Photo: Rollie Lux, "Clouds over the Corn," Nebraska, October 8, 2013